The organiser of the re-opening of a local museum asked me for a cheerful piece on the theme of celebration. My brain locked on to the idea of a party bringing family and community together, but where could I get inspiration for the detail? How about the earliest story in my memory involving a party? Despite loving the pantomime versions, I have problems with fairy tales. As someone on the spectrum, I find them manipulative – designed to lull children into thinking that a magical future is just around the corner. But of course, as inspiration for happy endings, they are sensational! So, I decided to update Cinderella. It was well-received at the event, and I enjoyed having the challenge of writing something very different.
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A PARTY LIKE NO OTHER
Celebrate good times, come on!
How Cindy loved that song. She remembered it from her Dad’s wedding to Connie. Cindy had been about six. She was precocious and pretty, and wore a bright pink dress, which complemented her honey-coloured skin and dark curls. After some boring old man had talked at Dad and Connie in an office in the local town, they drove back to the village hall. The party was exciting. There were lots of old people, medium-old people, and other children, including her new sisters. Oh, how she wanted to show off to them. So, she jigged around to songs that she had never heard before, imitating every move that she saw the “grown-ups” make, some of which had her collapsing in giggles. Honestly – Gran doing what she called a “shimmy” – it was hilarious!
Cindy had nearly been swept off the dancefloor when somebody called “Kool” started issuing orders to celebrate. Everybody had wanted to dance to it. It was such a happy tune, even happier than the “Happy” song, which she knew quite well. Determined to make the most of it, Cindy had thrown herself into a frenzied shake that was intended to be a dance. A few moments after the song ended, she threw up into a shiny bucket, which had felt very cold. Thank goodness Uncle Jez had got the fat green bottle out in time.
Now, she was an old person, well approaching eighteen, which was supposed to mean that she was responsible for herself. What a joke! She couldn’t even manage a houseplant. Cindy, ever a party girl, wanted a big party. I mean, come on, at eighteen everybody has a party. Right?
Not so right when your Dad has just been made redundant in his fifties, and your step-mum is always complaining about you being a burden because you only have a Saturday job and you want to go to university. Not like her independent girls – a hairdresser and an electrician. Even inviting people to the house and asking them to bring a bottle was, apparently, quite out of the question.
Cindy felt embarrassed. She had been to friends’ eighteenth birthday parties, and she wanted to invite her friends to one of her own. They had started asking her if she was going to have a party, and when she was honest and said Dad’s lost his job and so it wasn’t a good time, they looked at her with some pity, but also with a frisson of disappointment. Well, that was the real friends. A few of the college crowd started snubbing her and dismissing her with contempt. Could she reach out to her real Mum? Her Mum lived on the edge of normal, so perhaps she might have some different ideas about having a party on the cheap.
Cindy sat in her Mum’s sitting room, explaining that Dad was really worried that he wouldn’t find another job, and Connie didn’t want to spend any money on her and she couldn’t even afford a substantial round of drinks with her Saturday pay, but she really wanted a party for her eighteenth. Then her Mum said what Cindy had hoped not to hear. “Sorry, love. I can’t help you out. I wish I could.”
Cindy’s heart sank. Her Mum had listened with kindness and sympathy, as she always did, but she hadn’t even taken the time to think of an idea, however good or bad it might have been. So, there would be no party. She would get over it. Think of the bigger picture, Cindy told herself. Spend your birthday revising. There are plenty of eighteen-year-olds around the world who can’t have a party, who would be grateful just to have a decent meal.
As she took the coffee cups to the sink, the doorbell rang. Cindy went to answer it and a small woman with pink hair in a pink tie-die dress waving a pink walking stick shrieked at her. “Oh! You must be Cindy! Last time I saw you, you were having holy water sprinkled over you!”
“Sorry?” Cindy was baffled.
Her Mum yelled from the sitting room. “Come in, Ash!”
Cindy realised that the person at the door must be a neighbour. “Pleased to meet you, Ash. Would you like a coffee?”
Cindy saw a chance to excuse herself. She would go to the kitchen and make a coffee for this Ash person and then she could slope off, wondering when, if ever, her Mum might be of any practical use to her. The unconditional love was much appreciated but – oh! – if she could just help with something!
Cindy wandered back into the sitting room with the coffee, and the woman called Ash beamed at her. “Well, my darling, your Mum says you are upset because you can’t have a birthday party. I can’t have you upset. I am your godmother after all.”
“Really?” Cindy didn’t even know that she had been christened, let alone that she had a godparent. Perhaps one of the Grans had insisted on it.
“Yeah. Sorry that I haven’t kept in touch.” Ash sounded a bit sheepish.
“No worries.” Cindy shrugged. “Stuff happens.”
“Ash was my best friend at school. We lived in each other’s pockets for years, but we drifted apart after we got boyfriends.” Then her Mum added, “and Ash spends a lot of time away.”
Cindy must have looked very curious. Ash hurried to clarify. “I sell food at music festivals.”
“Oh.” Cindy was reassured, and interested. Ash might be old, but perhaps she was a little bit cool.
“Cindy, we need to make up for lost time. Let me do a party for you. I live down the road at Number 27. I’ve got a patio and garden and good neighbours, if you invite them, of course. I’m a good cook and I can make decorations and –“
“Please,” Cindy interrupted her. She was overwhelmed by Ash’s kindness, but with someone she didn’t know stepping in, Cindy was starting to feel ashamed because she had been expecting other people to deal with her urge for a party. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to go to so much trouble. I mean, I’m immensely grateful for the offer, but we are – really, we are strangers.”
“I get it.” Said Ash. “We have just met. But I care about your mum, so I care about you too. Come back to mine with me and we’ll talk about it –“
“Wait!” Cindy’s brain was churning over her thoughts, and she realised what she really wanted to do for her birthday. “You know, I’m not so sure about having a party. Celebrating ought to be about togetherness, not me showing off. And I don’t want to make Dad feel bad about not being able to pay for it. I’m going to contact the volunteers who do meals for people who really need them. Perhaps I could help them out on my birthday. That would make me realise how lucky I am. I could always go to the pub with a few friends afterwards.”
“Bless you.” Said Ash. “Well, I know a few people at the village hall, let me introduce you.”
Cindy walked to the village hall at 5pm on her birthday. She stopped to admire the banner over the door, made by the nimble fingers of Ash from multi-coloured scraps of material. “You are all welcome to Cindy’s Party!” She felt tearful, in a happy way. Discovering her godmother had been wonderful.
Cindy walked into the hall and started to help with putting out the tables and chairs and sorting the food. Ash was in the kitchen, full of ideas for using what had been donated that day, and she had brought some extra ingredients from people on the allotment.
Things got busy quickly. Young families arrived, elderly couples and singles, and a few people near her own age, whose lives were obviously not working out. Cindy’s mum was helping. A few college friends were, too. Eventually, her dad turned up with her step-sisters. The door shut behind them. Cindy hugged them enthusiastically, but she was worried for a moment – where was Connie? Then the door opened again and Connie entered, yelled “Happy Birthday!” and started distributing streamers and balloons.
The time flew by as the meal was prepared, cooked and served. Cindy was loading the dishwasher. This was something that she was good at. A guy that she hadn’t noticed before was bringing in crockery and cutlery at a phenomenal pace.
“He’s done this before.” Said Ash. “He’s a regular volunteer.”
Cindy and “the guy” didn’t chat. He just appeared with stuff, she said thank you, and he said you’re welcome, and so it went on.
Cindy was so busy that she was unaware of the hall starting to go quiet as something large was brought in and manoeuvred on to a strong table. The lights flicked on and off, and then stayed off. She heard her Dad’s voice, calling her to cut the cake. Oh dear. Everybody would be looking at her, all sweaty from the hot kitchen and in her apron! But it had to be done. She crept out of the kitchen and into the main hall.
The lights went on again. Oh, Ash had produced a work of art! It was large, lightly-iced and decorated with all sorts of fruit. She gasped in wonder, then she hugged people and shed a few tears of joy. She realised at one point that she was hugging “the guy”. Then she had to get on with the job of cutting that cake and taking it round to all the tables. She met people that she never even knew lived in the village.
Someone got some music going – celebrate good times! Of course!
Finally, the guests drifted away. For the regular volunteers, it was both a challenge and a joy to have some extra pairs of hands to make the meal into a party that would provide some cheer, as well as much needed nourishment. Now it was their turn to sit down to eat and drink. Cindy found herself sitting next to “the guy”. He had a shock of light brown hair and big hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle as he spoke. She introduced herself. “I’m Cindy. Pleased to meet you.” She offered her hand to shake his. “I’m Jack-” he started and then stopped. “Actually, my parents named me Charming, but I prefer Jack.”
Cindy was slightly taken aback, but parents did give their kids all kinds of weird names. She was about to ask him how long he had been volunteering at the dinner club when Cindy’s Mum and Ash broke into hysterical giggling. Why were they being so rude?
“It’s not funny, you two!” Cindy was embarrassed. “If you want to laugh about names, why did you give me the name of some 1960s doll?”
“Actually,” said Ash. “I remember the vicar didn’t approve – but they called you Cinderella!”
“Really?” Cindy was sure that she was just a “Cindy” – but she struggled to remember if she had actually seen her birth certificate, let alone a christening certificate.
Ash straightened her face. “Well, when your Mum asked me to be godmother, all I could think of was panto – fairy godmothers. I tried to persuade her to lengthen your name to Cinderella, but she didn’t. And it was me that put Jack up to saying that his name was Charming. Just to intrigue you. I wanted you two to make a connection.” Ash winked.
Cindy blushed. Jack blushed. They found themselves gazing at each other and smiling, then laughing at the joke Ash had played on them.
It was too early to predict happily ever after. But Cindy did have a magical birthday celebration in more ways than one, and, thank goodness, it didn’t involve the discomfort of a glass shoe.
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Photo: Birthday cake, Burgers Bakery, Marlow, UK.
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First performed at Marlow Museum, June 2024
